D'trelna was sure he'd just closed his eyes when K'Raoda signaled. "Captain, we're now orbiting the third planet."
Groaning, he rolled over and pressed a wall switch. "It's called Terra," he grunted. "Place us in synchronous orbit over our guests' point of origin and ask them to the bridge. I'll be right there. And wake L'Wrona up," he added maliciously, rolling to his feet.
"But sir, he just went to his cabin."
"Thin people don't need as much sleep, Subcommander," said D'Trelna, sitting up. "Get him up."
"We'll set you down with the landing party," he said to the Terrans a few moments later. The bags under their eyes told of a sleepless offwatch. In their boots, you'd be a bit upside down, too, he thought. "I'd appreciate your showing Subcommander K'Raoda the site and acting as liaison when local authorities arrive."
"You anticipate detection?" asked John.
The Captain nodded. "Implacable's shielded, but the shuttle's not. It will knife past your air defenses before a single fighter can be launched. But I'm sure its landing point will be quickly found." He smiled. "I'd like to be in your defense headquarters for the next few hours, watching the fun.
"Good luck. K'Raoda, if you need-"
He was interrupted by a cry of "Enemy contact!"
"Report," ordered D'Trelna, whirling to face L'Wrona.
"Three vessels," the XO responded, slender fingers playing over his console, eyes scanning the readout. "Just came out of hyperdrive almost exactly where we did. At present course and speed, about five hours to contact."
"Can you make out their type?" asked the Captain, sinking into the command chair.
"Running an analysis now." Then: "Three heavy cruisers of the new 'Berserker' class."
D'Trelna ignored K'Raoda's astonished whistle.
"They've undoubtedly detected us," said L'Wrona, turning from the screen. "S'Cotar cruisers have gear as good as our own."
"We can't outfight three heavy cruisers, Captain," K'Raoda said, walking toward his station. He left four very worried Terrans standing by the door. "Shall we prepare for hyperspace?"
"You run, Captain," said John, grim-faced, "and you'll leave four billion humans defenseless before those-''
D'Trelna jabbed a blunt finger at the angry Terran.
"Don't tell me my duty!" he snapped. "I commanded Dauntless at T'Qar-a relic against a S'Cotar flotilla. I lost two hundred good men, but we bought time for an evacuation convoy.
"You are, however, correct," he said in a softer tone, temper recovered. "I can't run. Not without knowing if those hypothetical Imperial defenses would protect you from a very real enemy. We stand."
"Captain, three heavy cruisers?" L'Wrona said, quietly seconding K'Raoda's protest.
"We will fight and we will win, gentlemen," said D'Trelna confidently, nodding. He turned to the Terrans. "As for you people, please stay with the landing force until our return. They'll need your help even more now. I can't spare many men.
"K'Raoda." He fixed the young officer with a piercing gaze. "If you are in imminent danger of being overrun by a S'Cotar assault force, destroy as much of that installation as you can. You're authorized to arm these and any other Terrans at your discretion."
"Sir, what about the Non-interference Directive?" asked the Tactics Officer.
"A pleasant fiction whose time has passed."
"You'll be staying here for now?" he asked, turning to McShane. Better, though still a bit pale, the professor sat at the flag station.
He nodded. "I'd be of little use in a ground action right now."
Accompanying the landing party to the now-restored Hangar Deck, Bob warmly embraced Zahava and Greg as they boarded the stubby-winged shuttle.
"You know what your chances are," said John, lingering.
Bob nodded. "About as good as yours if those S'Cotar cruisers get through. Besides"-he grinned-"I'll go out astride the deck of a starship, battling alien hordes. Beats the hell out of a coronary."
Ten minutes later, as McShane followed his commando escort back into the ship, the battle klaxon sounded.
The small ship settled with a quiet whoosh atop Goose Hill. Fighting back waves of nausea, John managed to croak, "Do you always pilot like that, Subcommander? Or just when you have guests?" He knew all of his bones were broken.
Seemingly untouched by the g-forces, the K'Ronarin officer bounded past his passengers to the airlock. Deftly fingering a control panel, he opened both doors. Fresh sea air wafted in.
"If you'd seen the sensors," he said as his squad fanned out, securing the perimeter, "you'd have dived, too. Your atmosphere is one vast detector web. We've no shield to stop missiles-I'd rather outrun them before they're fired."
Dropping like a meteor through the stratosphere, they'd executed a series of punishing, powered turns. Pressed deep into his padded chair by the brutal pressure, John had watched, gasping for air, as they'd plummeted through the clouds. Cobalt-blue, the Atlantic had rushed up, filling the overhead screen. Only at the last possible instant had a ribbon of dun-colored land appeared, curving out into the water. The shuttle's gentle landing had belied its violent descent.
John staggered to his feet. "I thought these warsuits doubled as pressure suits?" he said accusatively. "I blacked out more than once." He and Zahava helped an ashen-cheeked Greg to his feet.
"Without them, you'd be dead-we all would," said K'Raoda, turning in the airlock. "But they are better warsuits than pressure suits. Not even the Imperials could mutate so many physical laws with one construct.
"Come help us unload the cargo bay. You'll feel better."
They began moving supplies and equipment from the shuttle. Rubble still blocked the site's top entrance, but there was no sign of Langston or his men.
Leaving only two crewmen on guard, the small party of humans worked quickly, trucking cargo down to the hill's shoulder and stacking it before the rock-choked doorway. They finished as the sun was slipping into the ocean, turning the calm sea a burnt-ochre.
"Now what?" asked Zahava, eyeing the rubble.
K'Raoda sighed. "Give them the rifles, D'Nir."
Nodding, the NCO walked to a rectangular box, sliding back the top. The rifles he handed the Terrans were a gray, dully burnished metal. Stock, trigger guard, safety catch-all looked the same as on any rifle the three had held before. Only the lack of a protruding magazine and the odd muzzle gave the weapons an alien look.
"This will probably get me court-martialed," K'Raoda said resignedly, picking up a rifle. His men stood behind him in a small knot, watching the lesson.
"This is a Confederation Fleet Commando Ion-Laser Rifle, Model-Thirty-Two. It's a line-of-sight weapon, firing a stream of ions along a laser beam. The M-Thirty-Two has greater range and power than the M-Eleven pistol." He patted his holster. "It doesn't require any gift of intellect to use one. Just point"-he aimed casually into the rubble-"and fire." A boulder exploded with a bang, pierced by a thin, red bolt. The blaster made a distinctive shrilling when fired.
"Adjust the beam so." He twisted the muzzle, then fired again. The beam fanned wide, slowly melting an entire boulder.
"Please," K'Raoda implored, tossing his rifle to D'Nir, "keep the safety on.
"One more thing. Recall that the S'Cotar can appear human. If your communicator"-he touched the pendant at his throat-"sounds like this
…" A high-pitched whine made them wince. "…then there's a S'Cotar within twenty yards. Shoot whomever you think you see without hesitation-your mother, your lover, your child-and you may live. Understood?"
His students nodded.
"Good." He smiled. "Now for some target practice. Help us blast through the rubble. I want to be safely inside by dark."
The tons of rubble soon melted away under the hungry red beams. With everyone lending a hand, they made K'Raoda's deadline.
Stephen Ames Berry
The Biofab War